Sink Or Swim Chp. 3/?
When John woke up the sunlight was no longer glossing through the curtains and the room was quiet. The epitome of darkness it was, and after a moments thought John had collected it was night. He had slept the whole afternoon away in irritability and frustration to be woken in a whole new attitude. For starters, he had not noticed any pain in his head, nor did he feel the need to vomit. He smiled in the darkness and sat up.
He couldn’t see much around him, everything was a dark blur. John felt around the side table until he achieved finding his glasses. Putting them on, he found that in the dark they meant nothing. However he was able to make out the shapes of furniture enough to find the switch without tripping and knocking things over.
When he turned on the light his eyes immediately locked onto Paul’s bed. He was still out. John stared at it a few moments before he went ahead and got ready. For some reason he had wanted to be near Paul, though the reason he could not quite finger. He felt a moment of hesitance as he began to think of telling Paul the truth.
But why?
He was John fucking Lennon, and most people would find that he usually wasn’t afraid of anything. Not that he was necessarily afraid of Paul- he knew as much to not fear any kind of real fear of him, but he did fear his reaction. Paul was his partner in writing, Paul was a long time friend, his confidante. John didn’t want to risk any of that-
But then again why would he?
Telling Paul that he pretty much wanted to shag him had virtually nothing to do with anything else- it wasn’t as if he’d have to act on those impulses. Things could be normal, it wasn’t as if Paul would want to shag him back right? And John wasn’t stupid enough to be hurt by Paul’s rejection. John wasn’t seeking a relationship even if he knew he loved him.
So with those thoughts, John found himself walking along the boardwalk, grateful enough that it was dark enough to not be instantly recognized, though the boardwalk was oddly empty.
John stood on the silently on the boardwalk as the wind whistled through the night, his hair flying lightly in his eyesight. The night was cool and calming, the sound of the waves being the only thing heard. John almost did not want to leave this place, it was calming, clean, relaxing. It was one of the few moments he could actually enj--
Who’s that? John squinted his eyes as he observed more closely at the figure far down the beach. Down the beach sitting in front of the ocean sat a person. John stepped down from the boardwalk and his shoes met the sand as he began traveling toward the person.
George? He really couldn’t tell the difference in the night which Beatle it was, at this distance it could have been anyone of them. He didn’t really mind, he could stand to talk to either one of them. He had hoped it was Ringo, though, John always found that talking to Ringo set his mind in a better place almost every time. Not that George wasn’t stimulating mentally also, Ringo had calm exterior and rarely let that go unless he had a few too many drinks. George must of found Ringo just as stimulating, he always found company with him.
Not that if he had a choice it would’ve worked differently, Paul clearly preferred John’s company and to John the feeling was mutual.
So when the figure on the beach turned around, why did John’s heart skip when he saw it was Paul who look to him?
Of course he would never let it show on his face.
John proceeded anyway, and the hazel-eyed man watched him without thought. When John finally stood near Paul, John found that the ocean from this view was far more intriguing than from the boardwalk. Sitting beside Paul, he sighed and continued to watch the ocean lap wave over wave. It was as if the dark waters before him were breathing, a constant flow of life within it’s large body of water. The moonlight had shone peacefully, reflecting with as much vibrant glow as the moon itself.
The water traveled on the beach, and John watched as it tickled onto his leather shoes in contrast to Paul’s bare toes. John began to untie his laces, setting the shoes to his side, rolling up his pant legs, he outstretched his legs as if to capture some of the departing tide between his toes. A light smile of satisfaction crossed his lips as he felt the cool waters come up against skin.
Paul watched this for a moment before he too outstretched his legs, his pants rolled up, pushing through the cool wet sand as the coming tide washed around his toes. He sighed at the coolness and threw his head back as he basked in the breeze.
Finally Paul could enjoy some of his vacation.
John found himself watching Paul, not admirably, but curiously. Paul had began taking the wet sand and slopping it atop his feet childishly, smiling slightly when the tide would come and wash some of the slop away.
Paul found that all his digging for sand, he hit something hard. It had thought it cut his hand and he pulled back his arm sharply and wrinkled his nose. John perked up curiously.
“What’s that?”
Paul, realizing he was alright, took a nimble finger and dug around the object before he pulled out a uniquely shaped, dark shell.
“Well ‘ave a look at that!” Paul exclaimed with a smile broadening his features. “Beach treasure, that,” he said as he handed the object to John.
“Beach treasure? Don’t be daft, there’s a million more like it. Worth shit--”
“Not that kind of treasure,” Paul rolled his eyes and took it away.
John chuckled, seemingly happy to achieve annoying Paul already. Paul seemed to of taken John’s words to heart and threw the offending shell into the tide and watch it be dragged away.
“Ocean’s treasure now,” John said quietly.
Paul laid back in the sand and sighed peacefully. For Paul the night had been long. In fact, his whole day had been long. Between the feeling of having being sick for such a lengthy amount of time, and the off stir of emotions he’s been receiving from John, Paul had no break. He either thought of vomiting or John, and one would find that it was more than likely the latter.
It wasn’t as if he noted that aside from John’s ‘drunken babble’ that John had behaved any differently. Upon everything else, one would come to see that John’s behavior was quite the same. He was still a witty, mischievous, sarcastic bastard that Paul knew and loved, but did that have to matter? How could it possibly, and with all the hinting and puppet speak, how could Paul feel that there wasn’t another layer to John?
Another layer that John hasn’t shown Paul yet? It kept grating at him, driving him very nearly mad. He tried his best to understand the next layer, the one John hadn’t shown him, but he found it nearly impossible. He could see that over the few weeks, John could had been a slight bit more quieter and attentive toward him, but there was simply nothing else.
No clue, no oddities, no confessions to cling on. Paul would have to keep prodding him until he gave in, which wasn’t characteristic of John. John had a will, and if he will it not to be, often it wasn’t. But to Paul, John admitting that he was hiding something from him was something that could not and would not be dismissed.
Paul opened an eye and found John watching him with a grin.
“I didn’t expect to find ye at the beach. Thought I had a better chance findin’ ye fuckin’ some bird.”
Paul opened his other eye.
“Tell me.”
Paul couldn’t stand it. Tonight, Paul was going to get answers, it was decided. He or John wasn’t going to leave the beach until it was told. Paul knew that if he didn’t get answers he’d simply would ignore John until John opened up to him.
John found Paul persistent. But the residual emotions left in John were almost apathetic. He no longer necessarily cared if Paul knew he was wanting him, because there simply was nothing John or Paul could do about it. He found that he would almost prefer having it open between them so John wouldn’t have to feel a constant constraint around him.
And again, John knew that all because he confessed didn’t necessarily equate to having a relationship other than the one established. John felt confident, however he felt it hard to put into words.
Why?
Paul didn’t see a conflicting emotion pass John’s face at first but then there was frustration.
“Fuck Paul, why can’t ye let shit go?”
“Admit that it wasn’t the alcohol speaking.”
Paul sat up and put a hand on John’s shoulder. John did not turn to Paul, nor did he say anything else. He was quiet, and even though he found himself not worried about Paul getting it out of him now, he found Paul’s resolve coming on strong.
Paul had came closer to John, gently squeezing John’s shoulder as he observed John.
John removed his glasses and put his palms over his eyes irritably.
“Fuck Paul, come off it,” John mumbled but Paul didn’t stir. Paul only came closer to John, and John could feel Paul’s breath tickle his face.
“You can tell me…”
“No Paul, I can’t, and for fuck’s sake back up!”
Paul recognized this as John trying to stir clear of the situation, and was more than prepared to act when John stood to depart.
Fuck that. Paul grabbed a hold of John’s ankles, sending the man stumbling and falling into the sand, then promptly Paul had crawled atop of John and sat unto his stomach. Paul grasp John’s wrist and held it above John’s head. John’s brows furrowed. He did not like Paul on top of him in such a dominating position. Still he found himself struggling and failing at the man’s strong hold. Paul smiled in shock surprise, finding his odd resolute rather baffling. Any other time John would of tossed him aside but now Paul’s determination had the upper hand.
And Paul gained a sense of cockiness.
Then John rolled his eyes and gave up.
“What the fuck, Paul, get the bloody ‘ell off of me,” John stated with vexation. Paul shook his head and came closer to John’s face.
“Not until you tell me what you’re hidin’,” Paul then smiled and pulled back.
John had thrust his hips upward in an attempt to knock off the offending person, and it almost worked, however Paul straddled tighter around John.
This frustrated John both naturally and sexually. So much so that John had caught Paul off guard and flipped him over, finding his dominance once again. Or so he thought.
The bassist looked confused, completely unsure how it happened. However he still held John’s wrist, laughing as John once again grew a level of frustration.
Paul was now just having harmless fun, much to John’s discomfort. When John tried to rise to his feet, Paul used his legs to hold him down. Paul wrapped his long legs around John’s lower half, laughing naturally as he did so.
It hadn’t registered exactly what he was putting the man through in their wrestle through the sand. John very much wanted to be free but was slowly being drawn into impulses against Paul. He felt himself lightly thrust into Paul, however Paul didn’t notice or he mistook it as John’s hopeless struggle.
“Tell me, John,” Paul stated amusingly in between laughs. As John continued to struggle free of Paul’s unyielding clutches, he found that it only caused himself to become more aroused. The more he struggled, the more the lower half of himself made contact with Paul.
“Fuck,” John cursed under his breath. If Paul couldn’t feel his erection then he was either choosing to ignore it, or lost in the complete ‘fun’ of wrestling childishly in the sand altogether. John tried once again to pull his wrist free and had actually succeeded with one.
Paul acted quickly and wrapped his arms around John’s neck, pulling him into his shoulder with a triumphant ‘hah!’
John groaned irritably.
At this point all he had wanted to do was kiss Paul. The unknowingness of Paul throughout this whole tussle had only made John’s feelings and urges stronger, so with that John freed from Paul’s clutches, took Paul’s wrist (which caught Paul completely by surprise) and pinned it above Paul’s head.
John looked down at Paul’s face, the messiness of his black hair scattered about from the tussle had made Paul’s features that much more alluring.
Paul’s face was now calm, in a mix of defeat and patience, he watched John. When John had failed to procure words, Paul calmly stated for the umpteenth time ‘tell me.’
But John hadn’t said a word, how could he now? His lips were too busy making light contact with Paul’s. It was gentle brush of skin at first, Paul’s eyes growing wider but never leaving John’s golden ones. Paul’s breath hitched, yet John continued to breathe quite calmly. Paul didn’t struggle, he was either too stunned or was waiting for what was to happened next.
And in this light gesture if brushing lips, it was the cause of a million things rushing through Paul’s head. Suddenly all he could see were flags that popped up in memories. But did John---
And his thoughts were shattered with the pressure of John’s lips growing strongly on his own. This was it, John was very much now kissing him. While Paul’s lips couldn’t move (he was petrified) John’s lips held a subtle rhythm.
John felt Paul’s body unresponsiveness, yet he didn’t care. If Paul was going to pester him on the issue when he had tried persistently to avoid the issue then Paul would have to endure this. And it felt great, John thought. His heart hadn’t raced or any of that silly, girly shit, he was quite okay with it. He was never worried how he’d react to it, it was always Paul’s reaction he was worried about.
But Paul remained motionless, wide eyed, not breathing still.
And when John felt he had gotten the message clear enough, he pulled back, of course it did very little to stop his aching member.
And after awhile, Paul breathed again.
John had removed himself from Paul, in fear that he’d pull another rather reckless stunt.
Paul had sat up, large hazel eyes wide with disbelief, mouth hung open in shock as his fingers touched his own lips.
“You…”
“I fuckin’ told you, ‘appy now?” And with that, John stood, collected his shoes, and walked toward the hotel, leaving a very confused Paul alone.
He couldn’t see much around him, everything was a dark blur. John felt around the side table until he achieved finding his glasses. Putting them on, he found that in the dark they meant nothing. However he was able to make out the shapes of furniture enough to find the switch without tripping and knocking things over.
When he turned on the light his eyes immediately locked onto Paul’s bed. He was still out. John stared at it a few moments before he went ahead and got ready. For some reason he had wanted to be near Paul, though the reason he could not quite finger. He felt a moment of hesitance as he began to think of telling Paul the truth.
But why?
He was John fucking Lennon, and most people would find that he usually wasn’t afraid of anything. Not that he was necessarily afraid of Paul- he knew as much to not fear any kind of real fear of him, but he did fear his reaction. Paul was his partner in writing, Paul was a long time friend, his confidante. John didn’t want to risk any of that-
But then again why would he?
Telling Paul that he pretty much wanted to shag him had virtually nothing to do with anything else- it wasn’t as if he’d have to act on those impulses. Things could be normal, it wasn’t as if Paul would want to shag him back right? And John wasn’t stupid enough to be hurt by Paul’s rejection. John wasn’t seeking a relationship even if he knew he loved him.
So with those thoughts, John found himself walking along the boardwalk, grateful enough that it was dark enough to not be instantly recognized, though the boardwalk was oddly empty.
John stood on the silently on the boardwalk as the wind whistled through the night, his hair flying lightly in his eyesight. The night was cool and calming, the sound of the waves being the only thing heard. John almost did not want to leave this place, it was calming, clean, relaxing. It was one of the few moments he could actually enj--
Who’s that? John squinted his eyes as he observed more closely at the figure far down the beach. Down the beach sitting in front of the ocean sat a person. John stepped down from the boardwalk and his shoes met the sand as he began traveling toward the person.
George? He really couldn’t tell the difference in the night which Beatle it was, at this distance it could have been anyone of them. He didn’t really mind, he could stand to talk to either one of them. He had hoped it was Ringo, though, John always found that talking to Ringo set his mind in a better place almost every time. Not that George wasn’t stimulating mentally also, Ringo had calm exterior and rarely let that go unless he had a few too many drinks. George must of found Ringo just as stimulating, he always found company with him.
Not that if he had a choice it would’ve worked differently, Paul clearly preferred John’s company and to John the feeling was mutual.
So when the figure on the beach turned around, why did John’s heart skip when he saw it was Paul who look to him?
Of course he would never let it show on his face.
John proceeded anyway, and the hazel-eyed man watched him without thought. When John finally stood near Paul, John found that the ocean from this view was far more intriguing than from the boardwalk. Sitting beside Paul, he sighed and continued to watch the ocean lap wave over wave. It was as if the dark waters before him were breathing, a constant flow of life within it’s large body of water. The moonlight had shone peacefully, reflecting with as much vibrant glow as the moon itself.
The water traveled on the beach, and John watched as it tickled onto his leather shoes in contrast to Paul’s bare toes. John began to untie his laces, setting the shoes to his side, rolling up his pant legs, he outstretched his legs as if to capture some of the departing tide between his toes. A light smile of satisfaction crossed his lips as he felt the cool waters come up against skin.
Paul watched this for a moment before he too outstretched his legs, his pants rolled up, pushing through the cool wet sand as the coming tide washed around his toes. He sighed at the coolness and threw his head back as he basked in the breeze.
Finally Paul could enjoy some of his vacation.
John found himself watching Paul, not admirably, but curiously. Paul had began taking the wet sand and slopping it atop his feet childishly, smiling slightly when the tide would come and wash some of the slop away.
Paul found that all his digging for sand, he hit something hard. It had thought it cut his hand and he pulled back his arm sharply and wrinkled his nose. John perked up curiously.
“What’s that?”
Paul, realizing he was alright, took a nimble finger and dug around the object before he pulled out a uniquely shaped, dark shell.
“Well ‘ave a look at that!” Paul exclaimed with a smile broadening his features. “Beach treasure, that,” he said as he handed the object to John.
“Beach treasure? Don’t be daft, there’s a million more like it. Worth shit--”
“Not that kind of treasure,” Paul rolled his eyes and took it away.
John chuckled, seemingly happy to achieve annoying Paul already. Paul seemed to of taken John’s words to heart and threw the offending shell into the tide and watch it be dragged away.
“Ocean’s treasure now,” John said quietly.
Paul laid back in the sand and sighed peacefully. For Paul the night had been long. In fact, his whole day had been long. Between the feeling of having being sick for such a lengthy amount of time, and the off stir of emotions he’s been receiving from John, Paul had no break. He either thought of vomiting or John, and one would find that it was more than likely the latter.
It wasn’t as if he noted that aside from John’s ‘drunken babble’ that John had behaved any differently. Upon everything else, one would come to see that John’s behavior was quite the same. He was still a witty, mischievous, sarcastic bastard that Paul knew and loved, but did that have to matter? How could it possibly, and with all the hinting and puppet speak, how could Paul feel that there wasn’t another layer to John?
Another layer that John hasn’t shown Paul yet? It kept grating at him, driving him very nearly mad. He tried his best to understand the next layer, the one John hadn’t shown him, but he found it nearly impossible. He could see that over the few weeks, John could had been a slight bit more quieter and attentive toward him, but there was simply nothing else.
No clue, no oddities, no confessions to cling on. Paul would have to keep prodding him until he gave in, which wasn’t characteristic of John. John had a will, and if he will it not to be, often it wasn’t. But to Paul, John admitting that he was hiding something from him was something that could not and would not be dismissed.
Paul opened an eye and found John watching him with a grin.
“I didn’t expect to find ye at the beach. Thought I had a better chance findin’ ye fuckin’ some bird.”
Paul opened his other eye.
“Tell me.”
Paul couldn’t stand it. Tonight, Paul was going to get answers, it was decided. He or John wasn’t going to leave the beach until it was told. Paul knew that if he didn’t get answers he’d simply would ignore John until John opened up to him.
John found Paul persistent. But the residual emotions left in John were almost apathetic. He no longer necessarily cared if Paul knew he was wanting him, because there simply was nothing John or Paul could do about it. He found that he would almost prefer having it open between them so John wouldn’t have to feel a constant constraint around him.
And again, John knew that all because he confessed didn’t necessarily equate to having a relationship other than the one established. John felt confident, however he felt it hard to put into words.
Why?
Paul didn’t see a conflicting emotion pass John’s face at first but then there was frustration.
“Fuck Paul, why can’t ye let shit go?”
“Admit that it wasn’t the alcohol speaking.”
Paul sat up and put a hand on John’s shoulder. John did not turn to Paul, nor did he say anything else. He was quiet, and even though he found himself not worried about Paul getting it out of him now, he found Paul’s resolve coming on strong.
Paul had came closer to John, gently squeezing John’s shoulder as he observed John.
John removed his glasses and put his palms over his eyes irritably.
“Fuck Paul, come off it,” John mumbled but Paul didn’t stir. Paul only came closer to John, and John could feel Paul’s breath tickle his face.
“You can tell me…”
“No Paul, I can’t, and for fuck’s sake back up!”
Paul recognized this as John trying to stir clear of the situation, and was more than prepared to act when John stood to depart.
Fuck that. Paul grabbed a hold of John’s ankles, sending the man stumbling and falling into the sand, then promptly Paul had crawled atop of John and sat unto his stomach. Paul grasp John’s wrist and held it above John’s head. John’s brows furrowed. He did not like Paul on top of him in such a dominating position. Still he found himself struggling and failing at the man’s strong hold. Paul smiled in shock surprise, finding his odd resolute rather baffling. Any other time John would of tossed him aside but now Paul’s determination had the upper hand.
And Paul gained a sense of cockiness.
Then John rolled his eyes and gave up.
“What the fuck, Paul, get the bloody ‘ell off of me,” John stated with vexation. Paul shook his head and came closer to John’s face.
“Not until you tell me what you’re hidin’,” Paul then smiled and pulled back.
John had thrust his hips upward in an attempt to knock off the offending person, and it almost worked, however Paul straddled tighter around John.
This frustrated John both naturally and sexually. So much so that John had caught Paul off guard and flipped him over, finding his dominance once again. Or so he thought.
The bassist looked confused, completely unsure how it happened. However he still held John’s wrist, laughing as John once again grew a level of frustration.
Paul was now just having harmless fun, much to John’s discomfort. When John tried to rise to his feet, Paul used his legs to hold him down. Paul wrapped his long legs around John’s lower half, laughing naturally as he did so.
It hadn’t registered exactly what he was putting the man through in their wrestle through the sand. John very much wanted to be free but was slowly being drawn into impulses against Paul. He felt himself lightly thrust into Paul, however Paul didn’t notice or he mistook it as John’s hopeless struggle.
“Tell me, John,” Paul stated amusingly in between laughs. As John continued to struggle free of Paul’s unyielding clutches, he found that it only caused himself to become more aroused. The more he struggled, the more the lower half of himself made contact with Paul.
“Fuck,” John cursed under his breath. If Paul couldn’t feel his erection then he was either choosing to ignore it, or lost in the complete ‘fun’ of wrestling childishly in the sand altogether. John tried once again to pull his wrist free and had actually succeeded with one.
Paul acted quickly and wrapped his arms around John’s neck, pulling him into his shoulder with a triumphant ‘hah!’
John groaned irritably.
At this point all he had wanted to do was kiss Paul. The unknowingness of Paul throughout this whole tussle had only made John’s feelings and urges stronger, so with that John freed from Paul’s clutches, took Paul’s wrist (which caught Paul completely by surprise) and pinned it above Paul’s head.
John looked down at Paul’s face, the messiness of his black hair scattered about from the tussle had made Paul’s features that much more alluring.
Paul’s face was now calm, in a mix of defeat and patience, he watched John. When John had failed to procure words, Paul calmly stated for the umpteenth time ‘tell me.’
But John hadn’t said a word, how could he now? His lips were too busy making light contact with Paul’s. It was gentle brush of skin at first, Paul’s eyes growing wider but never leaving John’s golden ones. Paul’s breath hitched, yet John continued to breathe quite calmly. Paul didn’t struggle, he was either too stunned or was waiting for what was to happened next.
And in this light gesture if brushing lips, it was the cause of a million things rushing through Paul’s head. Suddenly all he could see were flags that popped up in memories. But did John---
And his thoughts were shattered with the pressure of John’s lips growing strongly on his own. This was it, John was very much now kissing him. While Paul’s lips couldn’t move (he was petrified) John’s lips held a subtle rhythm.
John felt Paul’s body unresponsiveness, yet he didn’t care. If Paul was going to pester him on the issue when he had tried persistently to avoid the issue then Paul would have to endure this. And it felt great, John thought. His heart hadn’t raced or any of that silly, girly shit, he was quite okay with it. He was never worried how he’d react to it, it was always Paul’s reaction he was worried about.
But Paul remained motionless, wide eyed, not breathing still.
And when John felt he had gotten the message clear enough, he pulled back, of course it did very little to stop his aching member.
And after awhile, Paul breathed again.
John had removed himself from Paul, in fear that he’d pull another rather reckless stunt.
Paul had sat up, large hazel eyes wide with disbelief, mouth hung open in shock as his fingers touched his own lips.
“You…”
“I fuckin’ told you, ‘appy now?” And with that, John stood, collected his shoes, and walked toward the hotel, leaving a very confused Paul alone.